


Root, Root, Root for the Home Team

by queenofthepuddingbrains



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthepuddingbrains/pseuds/queenofthepuddingbrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months after the incidents of "Winter Solider", Sam and Steve spend a summer evening watching a baseball game.  In which nothing is really said, much is understood, and the boys each enjoy the simple comfort of having a friend to share life's little "nothings' with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Root, Root, Root for the Home Team

**Author's Note:**

> The air conditioning in my apartment is broken, and contrary to their promise of this morning, maintenance still hasn't been to fix the issue. So, I walked in after watching "Winter Solider" (for a 4th time; don't look at me like that, you're not my mother!) and was hit with a wall of heat. Then, not even 30 seconds later, I was hit with a plot bunny. It was unusually vicious, nipping at my heels as I tried to do the whole grown-up work thing and insisting that it will only be pacified if I A) take it to Universal or B) share it with you. Since I don't have the time to drive to Orlando tonight, and since this little plot bunny isn't nearly big enough to ride the good attractions anyway, here it is.... 
> 
> Spoilers for “Captain America: The Winter Soldier”. I don’t own anything or anyone referenced herein. However, if anyone is selling a Steve Rogers, tank top undershirt edition, I am totally down with selling a kidney.
> 
> With special thanks to my fandom enabler, enigma731. She's one of my favorite people, and all our little "nothings" add up to one of the best "somethings" in my life.
> 
> Most of this takes place in the boys' heads, but specific thoughts and mental ruminations are in italics.

Sam whistles as he bounds up the last few steps of the staircase, walking quickly down the hall and stopping in front of Steve’s apartment door.  Checking his watch as he knocks sharply on the door of #4, he notices that the Nationals game starts in 10 minutes.  Steve’s transformed into quite a dedicated fan during his time in D.C., even _if_ he still insists on bemoaning— _every damn time_ —that he can’t believe they moved the Dodgers to L.A. 

 _Seriously, let it go, man._  

A broad smile crosses Sam’s face and he lets loose a chuckle as he remembers the last time he and Steve watched a baseball game together.  _Those referees should be grateful he didn’t want to draw too much attention by going to the game in person.  It might have been dangerous for them.  Not to mention scarring for everyone who still thinks Captain America never uses words harsher than “damn”.  Dude takes his Great American Pastimes seriously. Not_ , Sam thinks with a huff, _that that’s a huge surprise_.  It should be a fun night.  The Nats are playing the Marlins, so it should be a good game. If there aren't extra innings, Sam might even break out his patented list of movies-that-are-goddamn-awful-but-in-a-good-way-and-seriously, Steve-you- _have-_ to-watch-them.

The sound of the door opening shakes Sam from his schemes to broaden Steve’s cinematic horizons.

“Hey,” Steve greets him with a wide smile, “come on in.”  He stands back from the open door, letting Sam pass and gesturing down the hallway.

Walking across the threshold, Sam is immediately hit by a wall of heat.  _Damn!  It is hot as hell in here!_  For a second, it’s almost enough to send his mind back to the sandbox.  But then he catches himself and resolutely shuts that line of thinking down.  As he walks down the hallway towards the living room, Sam glances at the thermostat on the wall.  Despite the fact that it's the middle of summer, Steve has it set to 80 degrees.  As Sam reaches the couch, he turns back to look at Steve, eyebrow quirked questioningly.  He opens his mouth to make some sort of wisecrack— _I know older guys have trouble with their circulatory systems sometimes, Cap, but isn't it a little stuffy?_   As he catches Steve's eye, though, something makes him stop.  The smile Steve was wearing when he opened the door is still there, but now Sam notices that there's definitely strain behind it.  There’s tension in his shoulders and dark circles under his eyes that even advanced healing haven’t made disappear.  Sam looks at his friend, really looks, and he almost asks.  _What’s wrong, Steve?_

Steve meets Sam’s direct gaze and holds it.  He can see concern swiftly overtaking the amusement of just a few seconds before.  And he decides that, if Sam asks, he'll answer the question.    

 _It was just past zero two hundred.  I bolted bold upright out of that too-soft marshmallow of a bed.  I was falling again.  Panicked.  Surrounded by the cold.  Ice all around me.  It was crushing me.  Just like it did in ’45, when I gave up the future I could have—the future I should have had.  Just like it did a couple of months ago—crashing in the water again.  Losing Bucky, again.  Sure, that water was cold.  But not even it chilled me like having him look right through me.  That's what I can't seem to shake out of my head--the ice in his eyes.  At least I remembered the water as being cold.  And it was was cold.  It’s still cold.  I’m cold.  I’m so cold, Sam.   _    

Yes, Steve decides.  If Sam asks, he’ll tell him all of this.  He won’t even leave out the part about how he wishes the thermostat had a higher setting.  The part where he hasn't been able to make himself stop shivering ever since.  

_If he asks._

A moment of silence stretches between the two men.  Sam could ask, and it could become a _something_ moment.        

“What sort of pitching do you think Aaron Barrett’s going to start with tonight?” Sam asks instead, taking a seat on the couch.  Because, in the end, he doesn't need to ask the other question.  In the end, he already understands all the important parts.  

Steve smiles, smaller but more genuine this time, and he slips into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers.  Enthusiasm slowly colors his voice as he starts off on some tangent about the merits of a curve ball versus a slider.  The Nationals win that night, decisively and in a way that sees more cheers than aspersions on the character of the refs and their mothers from the two men sitting in the stuffy apartment.  Later, some B movie from the 80’s does find its way onto the TV screen.  And it _is_ god-awful, but Steve finds himself laughing at the cheesy catchphrases and ridiculous plot all the same—loud guffaws that seems to catch him by surprise while Sam watches smugly from his corner of the couch.  To an outside observer, it wouldn't seem like much.  In the grand scheme of the madness that makes up their lives, maybe it isn't.  It’s just a quiet evening full of _nothing_ moments.  But it’s enough.   

And after they say good night, Sam leaving with the promise to “drag your Speedy Gonzales ass out for some real fun” at some point later in the week, Steve turns on the air conditioning before climbing into bed. 

As the quiet hum of the fan begins to fill the apartment, his thoughts are a myriad of groggy recollections:  he and Sam relaxing on a couch in an apartment that's beginning to feel like home; couch cushions on a worn floor and grey blue eyes— _warm_ eyes—that look at him with recognition and affection, a flesh-and-blood hand roughing his hair and telling him to “stop being an idiot and go to sleep”; the feeling, nearly within reach, of letting a soft bed make you feel safe. 

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well, there we go. I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave any comments or constructive criticisms. 
> 
> A/N 2: For those readers concerned about the imminent likelihood of my succumbing to heat stroke, maintenance recently arrived, and I once again have air conditioning (though no sophisticated A.I. to tell me that "it's fully functioning" or to drive my car for me).
> 
> A/N 3; For those of you wondering about the plot bunny, it has curled onto its side and appears to be sleeping or in some form of deep meditation. I believe it is pleased with my efforts. What’s that? Oh, it now appears to be whispering “Hail Hydra” in a chant-like rhythm. I should probably go deal with that…


End file.
